


Resolution

by Black_Crystal_Dragon



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: AU, Everybody Lives, First Time, M/M, On Stranger Tides AU, Pirate!Norrington, Post-At World's End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-18
Updated: 2011-05-18
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:59:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7905676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Crystal_Dragon/pseuds/Black_Crystal_Dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every man must atone for his sins. (AU following the events of <i>At World’s End</i> and imagining what might’ve happened if Norrington had survived.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resolution

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_cornettist](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=the_cornettist).



> Written for LJ user the_cornettist for the help_haiti Fandom Auction on LJ in 2011. The prompt was “a resolute and unyielding need”. (I interpreted the prompt loosely, it seems.) Originally posted on LJ in honour of the UK release of _Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides_.
> 
> Thanks to the wonderful ice_elf for beta work, and to LJ user lady_leonida who was an awesome cheerleader.
> 
> Imported to AO3 in August 2016.

Most of the crew couldn’t quite work out why Jack had allowed ex-Admiral James Norrington a place on board the Black Pearl. Even if they put aside the fact that the man had repeatedly tried to hang the lot of them, Norrington had betrayed Jack’s trust in stealing Davy Jones’s heart, and in their opinion did not deserve a second chance. Though it had been months, only Gibbs and Jack himself treated Norrington as if he were not inflicted with some disfiguring contagion that might infect any man who strayed too close for too long. Even Barbossa refused to treat the man civilly, though Jack suspected that that was purely to irritate him and not out of any underlying hatred for Norrington.

Jack, however, believed strongly in second chances. Initially, he had allowed Norrington to stay on the Pearl only until they reached a port where he would be less well-known and therefore less likely to be arrested by the East India Trading Company and hanged for piracy, treason and any other charges the bastards could think up. Then Norrington had come to his cabin – definitely his, though Barbossa insisted on sharing – and practically begged them to let him stay, and something in his eyes had made Jack pause and consider.

The man was a good sailor, and handy with sword and pistol; he had proved that time and time again. He also had an ability to focus himself like no other man Jack had ever known. It was only thanks to that focus that he had managed to track the Pearl across the Caribbean and the Atlantic after his second escape from Port Royale. Jack had conferred with Barbossa; and then, when the other pirate had dug his heels in, he had negotiated with Barbossa, not sure why he was willing to offer up an extra share of the loot to his co-Captain – and how he hated using that term, even as a bargaining chip – but doing so anyway.

It must have been a huge blow to Norrington’s pride to step down from the position of Admiral into the shoes of a midshipman, and yet he had done so without complaint. The crew treated him like poison, yet he took their silence and abuse stoically. Even when provoked, even when Jack could see the anger and humiliation burning in Norrington’s eyes, he invariably lowered them and chose not to fight. He worked longer and harder than any other member of the crew, and was sometimes deprived of meals when the other pirates were feeling particularly vindictive and ‘accidentally’ knocked his share to the floor or into the ocean. Whenever they put into port, Jack expected him to ask to leave, and yet he never did. So Jack began to study James Norrington. As they sailed towards the place on the map marked as the Fountain of Youth, he let Barbossa take the helm while he stood nearby and leaned on the balustrade overlooking the deck, just watching. He didn’t speak to him any more than he had before, but when they did talk he noticed the other man’s inflections more, the way he hardly ever made eye contact, saw for the first time the forced subservience in his manner.

The Fountain of Youth, when they finally arrived, turned out to be a mistranslation of the Fountain of Life, which had a worse catch than Cortez’s Aztec gold. Jack was duly disappointed; it would have been wonderful, after all, to sail the seven seas for all eternity, but not without the everlasting youth they had been hoping for. Barbossa, on the other hand, was apoplectic at another foiled attempt to gain immortality. After the initial paroxysm of fury – during which he made another attempt on Jack’s life, claiming it was all his fault, as usual – the other pirate settled into a monstrously bad mood and stormed about the ship snarling at anyone and everyone who crossed his path.

Ever since he and Barbossa had been sharing the post of Captain of the Black Pearl, neither of them very graciously, things had been tense at the best of times. The journey back towards the Caribbean was far from the best of times, and Jack could feel resentment building in the crew – and not just towards Barbossa. The little cruelties they inflicted upon Norrington became more frequent: a way of showing their hostility toward Jack himself, he was sure.

Locked out of his own cabin and unwelcome below decks, Jack found himself sitting aimlessly on the steps between the gun deck and forecastle most evenings, and was surprised to find that Norrington habitually sat on the opposite steps until long after all sound had died out on the lower decks. Only then, when he was sure that all the pirates were sleeping, would he make his way down the ladder to his hammock.

Sometimes, he had with him a lamp and a battered book, which he read with apparently avid interest; other times, he worked by lamp-light to make tiny repairs to his clothes so that they would look as pristine as possible given their environment; still more often, he would simply lean against the steps with his head back, looking up at the stars through the Pearl’s rigging and doing nothing at all. The first few times they happened to be on deck together under cover of darkness, neither spoke. Then, one night, after he had blown out his lamp and was on his way below deck with his book in one hand, Norrington had called out softly, “Good night.”

The next night, Norrington brought neither literature nor needlework from the locked chest beside his hammock. He only brought himself, and looked out at the moonlit ocean with a sad expression. After a while, Jack rose and crossed the deck, treading lightly so as not to disturb the other man’s thoughts.

Norrington looked up as Jack came to a halt beside him, apparently surprised that he had bothered to approach him at all. Jack smiled a little. “Mind if I join you, mate?”

The stairs were not wide enough for them to sit side by side comfortably, so Norrington moved up a couple of steps, giving Jack room to sit on the bottom half while he sat at the top. Jack sat down and settled himself into a comfortable sprawl that drew a tiny smile to the other man’s lips before he looked out to sea again.

In the moonlight, Norrington’s face looked pale and melancholic. Jack thought he looked like a tragic hero from some dark fairytale of the sea; he was certainly handsome enough for it. He had divested himself of the belt that held his sword and pistol, removed his hat and unlaced the neck of his shirt, as Jack had learned that he always did in the evenings. The removed items now lay side-by-side on the quarter deck and for once Norrington looked relaxed and at ease.

“What is it keeping you here?” Jack asked suddenly. He could think of no way of prefacing his question, so he had not even tried; better for it to come out of the blue than out of some convoluted attempt to soften the words. Norrington looked around quickly, his rising defensiveness visible in his body language before it reached his face. Then he appeared to realise that Jack was only curious, not accusatory, and the sharpness went out of his features.

“Why do you care?”

“Because you’re a member of my crew and you’re not happy with your lot aboard the Pearl,” Jack stated simply. “Most men would’ve jumped ship at the next port – but you never do. You barely even leave when we put into a town somewhere.”

“Yes, well,” Norrington replied, shifting uncomfortably and avoiding Jack’s steady gaze. “I have my reasons.”

“I imagine Barbossa’s steering us back to Tortuga,” Jack continued as if he hadn’t heard. He shifted up another step and leaned conspiratorially into Norrington. “There’s no East India Trading Company in Tortuga, mate, so if it’s the warrant for your arrest that’s bothering you –”

“It’s not that,” Norrington told him, surprising Jack into silence. Jack had gathered from his careful observation that Norrington was an intensely private man, not one to divulge details of his personal life even to his friends; he had not really expected him to talk about what was keeping him on the Black Pearl even when he began to press the topic. However, Norrington looked as if he were about to say more. Jack waited patiently. Eventually, the other man sighed deeply and looked down at his clasped hands. “I have no wish to leave the Black Pearl, Captain Sparrow.”

The words were as unexpected as the use of his title. Jack looked up to study Norrington’s face, but it was carefully schooled into an impassive expression. He gingerly raised a hand and placed it on the other man’s knee.

“I imagine you’ve noticed by now, mate; most of my crew aren’t for standing on ceremony,” he murmured. Norrington chuckled softly. Jack smiled and continued, “You can use my given name, if you can bring yourself to call me by it.”

Another chuckle, this one a fraction louder, and Norrington looked up. “Very well. Jack.”

Jack liked the way his name sounded on Norrington’s lips: warm, with just a hint of irony – like so many of the things the man said to him. He grinned. “That’s better. Though you still haven’t mentioned why is it you want to stay, when the place and company aren’t to your liking.”

The other man sighed abruptly, closing his eyes for a moment in obvious frustration. “You have a fine ship Sparrow – Jack. I’m happy to serve aboard her. I enjoyed my time as a midshipman with the navy and, contrary to what you might think, I’m enjoying the experience over again as a pirate. As for the company, I’m sure it would be quite pleasant, if they would stop acting as if I’d insulted all their mothers and treated me like a human being.”

Jack chuckled. “Aye. I’ll try to have words with them.”

“I’m sure you will – and I’m equally sure that they won’t listen,” Norrington said evenly, the corner of his mouth turning up a fraction in a smile. It wasn’t a slight on Jack’s discipline or his ability to influence his men; it was the voice of a man experienced in commanding a crew of his own, admitting that in some things they could not be swayed by their captain. Jack returned his smile. He sometimes forgot that Norrington must once have been a Captain, and had all the experience that went with it.

He let the silence stretch comfortably between them for a while, marvelling that it could do so at all. After all, he was sitting beside a man who had once wanted to have him hanged, a man who had taken the heart of Davy Jones from him and damn near caused the end of piracy. He wondered if Norrington’s thoughts were running along a similar vein.

Eventually, his curiosity forced him to break the silence. “But if it’s not that …”

He let the unfinished question hang in the air, certain that Norrington would know what he was talking about. The other man sighed and dropped his head onto his chest. Very quietly, he asked, “You’re not going to let this go, are you, Sparrow?”

Jack shook his head. “I can’t, mate.”

“Very well, then,” Norrington said, looking up and meeting Jack’s eyes squarely. “I’m not happy to be here because I was raised to hate pirates and all they do – though I must admit, the more I know of pirates, the more I realise that my father’s view on the matter was needlessly dualistic. Will and Elizabeth are right: it is possible to be a pirate and a good man. You prove that.”

Norrington offered a nervous smile, which Jack returned with a broad, pleased grin. It was gratifying to know that the ex-Admiral no longer hated all pirates indiscriminately, and that he had been a part of changing his view on the matter. Norrington paused for a moment, licking his lips.

“Perhaps one day I will become reconciled to this life. However, there are some things which I can never be reconciled with, and one of those is the stealing of Davy Jones’s heart,” he continued, and finally he broke eye contact. The expression on his face made Jack want to reach out and offer comfort, but he wasn’t sure whether it would be welcome. Norrington took a shuddering breath and carried on. “Had I not betrayed you, taken the heart and handed it over to Beckett, he would not have been able to capture and murder hundreds of so-called pirates, many of whom were hanged without a decent trial. When I realised how Becket and the East India Trading Company had used the heart … I have never, in all my life, felt such shame.” He looked up into Jack’s eyes. “I shall never forgive myself.”

“So that’s what it is, eh?” Jack murmured sombrely. “All this aboard the Pearl is you trying to work off the weight of your guilt, is that it?”

Norrington looked away, as if the fact that Jack had worked it out was shameful. Jack’s hand was still resting on his knee; now he shifted a step higher again and transferred it from knee to arm, which caught the other man’s attention.

“You did what was in your best interests – which is what any man aboard this ship would have done in your place, Norrington, so no one can rightly blame you for what happened,” Jack told him, careful to keep his expression serious and understanding – he did understand, after all – but Norrington flinched from his words as if physically struck. Jack balled his fingers into a fist, gathering up a handful of the other man’s coat sleeve. “Is it so terrible? That you acted like a pirate?”

Norrington looked away, his expression pained, which was answer enough. Jack released his shirt and stood up. Norrington seemed to have closed himself off, and besides, he had already learned what he wanted to know. He looked down at the other man and sighed deeply.

“Norrington, I believe I speak for all pirates when I say this. Consider whatever debt you think you owe us to be paid,” he said. He hoped that his statement would in some way release the other man from a small portion of the guilt he obviously felt – the guilt that had driven him to turn against the East India Trading Company in the first place. Norrington looked up at him, surprise etched into his features, and Jack smiled. “When we next make port, you’re free to do as you please as far as I’m concerned.”

He turned and started towards the mess of sacking and blankets he had made for himself in place of a bed beneath the starboard stairs to the forecastle. He had barely gone more than a couple of paces when Norrington spoke.

“What if doing as I please entails remaining aboard the Black Pearl, Jack?”

Jack spun around slowly and gave Norrington a calculating look. The other man had risen to his feet and was staring across at him. He looked torn between feeling lost and hopeful, but there was still guilt lingering in his eyes. Jack walked back to him slowly and deliberately crowded into his personal space, intending to unnerve him; Norrington did not so much as lean backwards.

“Now why would you want to do that?” Jack asked in a low voice.

“As I said,” Norrington murmured, and Jack felt his breath against his cheek, “She’s a fine ship, Jack. And I do enjoy the company.”

Jack blinked up at him. Norrington’s smile was shy and uncertain, with good reason if Jack judged his words correctly as mild and cautious flirtation. Gingerly, Jack raised a hand – silently praying that he hadn’t misjudged the other man’s intentions – and brought the tips of his fingers to Norrington’s cheek. He was almost surprised when he was not batted away in irritation or horror. Norrington seemed to relax into the touch, his eyes losing a fraction of their worry, which gave Jack the confidence to skim his fingers across the skin of his cheekbone, soft and cool from the night breeze. He slid his fingers down to caress the other man’s jaw, where several weeks’ stubble was rapidly forming a bedraggled beard. Norrington’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Then of course there’s this,” he breathed as Jack dared to bring his other hand up to Norrington’s face. “Another part of my life that is so difficult to reconcile.”

Jack carefully noted his choice of words: difficult, but not impossible. He began to smile, but there was a question he needed to ask before he continued. “Norrington.”

The other man opened his eyes and said firmly, “James.”

Jack nodded as he let his fingers trail down the sensitive skin of James Norrington’s neck and onto his shoulders, marvelling that this was allowed, that his touch was wanted. “Aye. James. Tell me, that guilty feeling – that’s not the motivation for this?”

James’s answering laugh was brief and sardonic. He turned his face away and shook his head slightly, as if he could scarcely believe what he had just heard. After a moment, he looked back at Jack.

“No, Sparrow. It’s not,” he said emphatically. He paused as if wondering whether to continue; Jack raised his eyebrows expectantly. James swallowed hard and murmured, “I don’t mind stooping to menial labour to repay my debts, but I would never do so with my body.”

Something inside Jack’s chest tightened at his words, and the many implications they raised in his mind. He was suddenly very aware of James’s body: the fact that they were barely inches apart, and the warmth of his shoulders seeping through the rough material of his shirt and coat. He tried to calm the increasingly rapid beating of his heart.

“’Course not,” he said, his fingers shifting restlessly and one hand sliding from James’s shoulder to his chest. He narrowed his eyes a fraction. “But I have to know, mate – if not that, then … why? Why now?”

He searched James’s face for some clue. Sometimes he could read the other man through his stoic demeanour, but this was not one of those occasions, much to his frustration. James regarded him silently for a long moment, then began to smile. “Amusing though I’m sure you’ll find this, Jack, I wasn’t sure whether you liked me.”

James was right; he did find it amusing, mainly because it was strange to think of a man like James Norrington worrying over such a thing. He grinned, unable to help himself, and James dropped his gaze, smiling a self-deprecating smile. Jack shifted half a step closer. “And what made you decide that I do?”

“You ask an inordinate number of questions, Sparrow,” James told him, but he sounded more like he was entertained by Jack’s curiosity than irritated by it. He paused for a moment to raise his hand to Jack’s waist – the first point of contact he had initiated so far – then continued, “I think I started to suspect when I realised you were watching me all the time.”

“You noticed that, eh?”

“I think everyone did, Jack,” James replied with a chuckle. He was teasing, but gently, as if he wasn’t sure how far or how hard he could push. Jack grinned unashamedly, trying to signal to him without words that he was more than welcome to put his wit to good use. James’s eyes darted away and Jack thought he heard a slight hitch in his breath before he spoke again. “It wasn’t that, though, that persuaded me. It was when you came over and spoke to me tonight. You didn’t treat me like a man who’s tried to have you hanged, or a man who once betrayed you. You treated me as a member of your crew – and what’s more, you treat your crew as your friends.”

“That’d be because they are, mate,” Jack said softly. He let his fingers trail up James’s neck again, then pushed them into his loosely braided hair and tightened his grip against his scalp. “Wouldn’t be aboard if they weren’t.”

“So what does that make me?” James asked as he bent to better accommodate Jack’s touch. The hand that was not lightly pressed against Jack’s waist brushed his hip. Jack’s gaze flickered from James’s eyes to his mouth and back again, then he curled his hand into a fist around a handful of James’s shirt and pulled, dragging him across the final inch that separated them.

He caught James’s lips as they opened on a gasp, and felt him respond a moment later. The initial shock of first contact lit a spark that tingled down Jack’s spine, setting his nerves alight to every sensation. The softness of James’s lips was a sharp contrast to the scratch of his stubble, but both made Jack want to press himself closer. He did so, releasing his grip on James’s shirt so that he could wrap one arm around his chest and hold him there.

James was the first to reluctantly pull back for air, though he remained so close that they shared each quick, shallow breath, their lips still barely touching. His hands were trembling, despite their tight grip on the material of Jack’s sash. Jack disentangled his fingers from the other man’s hair and gently stroked across his cheek with his thumb. “James?”

“Oh, God, Jack,” James breathed. The timbre of his voice had changed, become deeper and rougher-sounding, and Jack shivered because he had caused that. He had made the reserve of a man who had once been an Admiral dissolve. Warmth spread through his chest at the thought, then dipped lower, igniting a slow burn of desire deep in the pit of his stomach. He stroked James’s cheek again.

The second time, it was James who initiated the first touch of lips, and James whose tongue teased open Jack’s mouth to deepen the kiss. Jack moaned at the slick caress of James’s mouth against his own, hooked an arm around his neck and arched like a wanton, the desire for more building at the base of his spine. James’s hands, one splayed across his back and the other tugging insistently at his hip, seemed determined to have him closer, hold him flush against every inch of James’s body as if he could not get him close enough.

Jack was shocked at the intensity with which James touched him with lips and hands and tongue. He had always suspected that, beneath the uniform and a lifetime’s adherence to society’s codes, there were hidden depths to the man, but he could never have predicted this. James kissed him as if he would never have the chance again, as if every moment of their acquaintance had built up to the series of open-mouthed kisses he pressed against Jack’s mouth.

He could not bear the passion of it. He pulled away and tipped his head back, not trying to escape James’s embrace but desperately needing to draw breath. James wrapped both arms around his waist and turned his attention to Jack’s neck, lavishing feather-light kisses along his jugular. Jack tangled his fingers in James’s dishevelled hair and held him there against his neck while he panted for breath.

James stilled a moment later, his forehead resting on Jack’s shoulder and his breath also coming in sharp gasps. Jack rolled his head across his shoulders until his cheek rested against James’s head.

“Fine pair we are,” he murmured when he had enough breath, eliciting a chuckle from James.

“Indeed,” he replied raggedly, raising his head slowly. His pupils were blown wide so that only a sliver of iris could be seen and Jack could feel the heat of his desire as James’s gaze raked across his face and settled momentarily on his lips. Then the other man met his gaze and smiled wryly.

“Well, least you finally look like a pirate,” Jack teased, releasing his grip on James’s mussed hair and ruffling it affectionately. James grabbed at his wrist to stop him, but Jack managed to twist away and instead caught his hand, lacing their fingers together before letting his arm drop to his side, taking James’s with it.

James shook his head, but he was smiling. Jack swiftly leaned in and stole a brief kiss, which only made James’s smile broaden into a grin.

“Do I, Sparrow?” he asked, his tone half affectionate and half scathing. A shiver ran down Jack’s spine. It was an echo of the way James used to address him when he was still in the navy, or still wanted to be, and although it had wounded Jack’s pride a little that the other man had refused to take him seriously, he had liked it. He had liked that his reputation did not, for once, precede him. He had liked that he had to work to impress James Norrington; he still did.

“Aye,” Jack murmured. He disentangled his fingers from James’s and slid his hands inside the other man’s coat, leaving only one layer of cloth between his palms and James’s bare skin. He was warm, and didn’t flinch from the touch as Jack skimmed his hands down his side and across his back. Instead, he sighed and closed his eyes.

“What are we to do, Jack?” he asked sadly a moment later. Jack suspected that he could guess what he was thinking about; it was difficult not to think of the repercussions of what they were doing. He was reluctant to ruin the moment with worrying, however, so he pretended not to hear the sadness in James’s tone.

“Oh, I can think of a number of things,” he murmured, twisting his lips into a leer. James’s eyes snapped open and he fixed Jack with a glare that stilled his wandering hands.

“You know what I mean,” he said tightly. “Society –”

“Ah,” Jack said, reluctantly pulling a hand out from under James’s coat so that he could hold up an index finger. “But you’re not among society now, mate. You’re with pirates.”

“As if I could ever forget that,” James smiled, a little of the tension leaving his shoulders. He sighed, bending his head until his forehead rested against Jack’s, and let his eyelids slide closed again. Jack brought one hand up to stroke his hair.

They stood in silence for a while, James habitually bottling up whatever he felt and Jack unsure what he could say to soothe the other man. Gradually, as Jack’s fingers worked through his hair, destroying his sailors’ braid in the process, James relaxed further. Eventually, he murmured an apology which Jack hadn’t thought was necessary; he could understand, after all, the concerns James had for the situation. Instead of answering, Jack tipped his head back, nuzzling into James’s face until their lips met.

James sighed against his mouth before kissing him back in earnest. Jack let his arm hook around the back of James’s neck, dragging him down to his level and holding him there while he scraped his teeth over the sensitive skin of his lower lip. James gasped and pulled back.

“Sorry,” Jack said, though he wasn’t and he didn’t think his lie passed muster. James smiled warmly.

“I’m sure,” he said, the words laden with sarcasm. He opened his mouth to say something more, but before he could speak they both heard the sound of heavy footsteps rushing up the steps from the lower decks.

Jack tried not to feel hurt when James jerked in his arms and then pulled away entirely, striding across to the ship’s rail to put distance between them. He had seen the raw panic in the other man’s eyes, after all, and half understood it. A moment later, Ragetti burst onto the deck and staggered drunkenly to the ship’s starboard rail to throw up. Jack winced in sympathy, but didn’t approach the man. He could hear someone else coming up the stairs now, and guessed that it was Pintel, come to help his friend back below and into his bunk. Instead, he turned his eyes to James, who looked as distant and fragile as he had before, when they were at opposite ends of the deck, and about a thousand times further away.

He swallowed the constriction in his throat and walked across to lean on the port-side rail beside James, keeping a respectable distance between them. The privacy of the moment had been completely shattered, what with Ragetti still heaving over the side and Pintel shouting down to the other pirates for another pair of hands. Jack knew it would not be recovered tonight.

They stood in silence, not touching, not looking at one another, certainly not talking, until Ragetti had been supported back down to the lower decks and his bed. Finally, James turned his head a little. “Well?”

“You should get some sleep,” Jack said softly, keeping his eyes fixed on the water lapping against the Black Pearl’s hull. “Long day tomorrow.”

“It’s a long day every day, Jack,” James commented with a smile, still not quite looking at Jack’s face. He turned to obey Jack’s instruction, but paused and laid a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Good night.”

The contact was nothing more than a brief squeeze, but it lifted Jack’s heart. He had been afraid that James would block out all that had happened on the deck under the moonlight, but that touch seemed to be a signal that he would not. He smiled and replied, “Sweet dreams, mate.”

*

Tortuga was exactly as they had left it: filthy with corruption, boisterous with alcohol, and crawling with danger. They made port just before sunset and once the Black Pearl was secured Jack let the crew swarm onto the dock and dissipate into the growing crowds of drunkards and criminals already thronging the streets in preparation for the nightly festivities. Once the ship was docked, even Barbossa ventured from the captain’s cabin, Jack the Monkey perched on his shoulder and chattering in his ear.

“Going ashore, Barbossa?” Jack asked, trying to be amiable for the sake of crew morale. The other pirate rounded on him and glared.

“You best not be thinking of stealing my ship,” he snarled at Jack. The monkey picked up on his anger and screeched, baring all of its little teeth. Jack restrained himself and didn’t pull a face in return; instead, he contrived to look hurt and innocent, placing a hand over his heart.

“I am wounded,” he said, “That you would even think such a thing of me.”

He heard someone snort with laughter behind him, and instinctively knew that it was James. He resisted the urge to smile. Barbossa looked as if he might run him through anyway, and he didn’t want to antagonise him further.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t make off with the Black Pearl, Captain,” James called from the quarterdeck. Jack heard him come down the steps and approach the two of them slowly. Barbossa shot him a suspicious glare.

“You’d better,” he said, his tone a threat enough without him needing to say what he would do if the Black Pearl wasn’t there when he returned. He turned to Jack and shot him another vicious look, then stalked down the gang-plank, muttering to the monkey about apples.

Jack watched him go impassively. He hadn’t been planning on taking the ship from Barbossa; not now, at any rate. He was actually planning to take a nice merchant vessel, hopefully one bigger than the Black Pearl herself, and offering it to Barbossa. If he refused, Jack then planned on reiterating the offer he had made in the cave with the chest of cursed gold: the offer of a fleet, the title of Commodore, and sixty percent of his plunder, on the condition that Jack retained the Black Pearl. Barbossa liked power; he would be sure to take the offer, and then Jack could slip away in his ship – the fastest ship in the Caribbean, if not the world – and leave Barbossa alone with his big hat and his big ship and hopefully Jack’s least favourite crewmembers to boot.

“I don’t know why you took up with that man in the first place,” James commented dryly.

“Obsession with apples aside, he’s occasionally useful,” Jack replied dryly, though the more he and Barbossa butted heads over the captaincy of the Black Pearl, the less he could believe that. He turned to James and tipped his head on one side. “So. Looks like it’s just you and me and the Pearl.”

James’s smile faltered a little. “Yes?”

Jack sauntered towards the captain’s cabin, beckoning James to follow him. “I think I have some rum in here that Barbossa won’t have found …”

He left the door open behind him as an invitation, and was gratified to hear James’s footsteps follow him inside. The room itself was bright, thanks to the windows that covered the back wall, but the table was awash with charts and papers and food that Jack didn’t dare examine too closely, and Barbossa’s bed was a tangle of sheets. Jack pulled a face and went over to the hammock he had been relegated to, after the monkey had bitten him every time he tried to approach the bed.

“Good God,” James said under his breath as he looked around.

“None of that’s mine, mate,” Jack said over his shoulder as he prised up a loose board in the corner and put his hand into the darkness beneath it. His fingers found the cool glass neck of a bottle and he smiled, pulling it out.

“I realise that. You’ve been sleeping on deck since – well, since the Fountain of Life,” James told him. Jack was surprised; he hadn’t realised that his sleeping arrangements had been noted by the other man. Trying to hide it, he pulled the cork out of the bottle and took a swig, enjoying the burn of the liquid as it slid down his throat. He then held it out to James, who took it and drank sparingly before handing it back.

Jack gestured towards the chairs around the table, choosing one for himself and hanging his coat over the back before he sat down. He waited for James to join him before he drank again. The other man looked nervous; this was as close and as private as he had allowed them to be since the night on deck. Although he had still come to sit on the quarterdeck steps each night, he had made no move to approach Jack, and vice versa. Jack had been waiting for James to come to him; he had no idea why he had not yet done so.

There was a tension in the air between them, Jack thought; they were alone on the ship and in his private cabin. Well; private now that Barbossa had gone ashore. Jack found himself thinking of the nights he had spent remembering the press of another body against his own – James’s body, tall and solid next to his slighter frame. He swallowed another mouthful of rum and tried to clear his thoughts.

“Do you have any plans for when we leave Tortuga?” James asked when Jack offered him the bottle again. Jack shrugged, watching as he brought the bottle to his mouth and tipped it up, then letting his eyes wander to James’s throat while he swallowed.

“Not yet. We’ll see what word the crew brings back,” he replied. James set the bottle on the table, his fingers still curled lightly around the base of it. Jack’s eyes were drawn to them: long and slender, grimy and calloused by the menial work aboard the Black Pearl. He remembered the brush of them against his skin and longed for the contact.

“I see,” James said, then lapsed into silence. Jack shifted in his chair, then reached out as if to take the bottle. Instead of lifting it, however, he let his fingertips run down the glass until they rested against James’s: a test, to gauge his reaction. He twitched as if surprised but didn’t pull away.

“James,” Jack said after a few moments of quiet contact. His voice came out lower than he had anticipated, a result of the desire that had begun to build as soon as he had been left alone with James.

“Jack?” James replied, raising his eyebrows. Jack lifted the bottle and moved it aside, then let his hand drop on top of James’s, running his thumb across the back of his hand. He watched in fascination as James swallowed hard, murmured, “Jack.”

The repetition of his name was a warning, but it was one Jack intended to ignore. He got to his feet and stepped closer to James’s chair so that he could brace his hands against its high, straight back and lean into the other man’s face. James’s eyelids fluttered.

“Jack,” he breathed, just before Jack’s mouth found his lips. With a swipe of his tongue, Jack opened James’s mouth and swallowed a moan. James’s hands were suddenly clutching at his waistcoat, not pulling or pushing, just holding, and it was encouragement enough for him to kiss him harder.

He pulled back, breathless, and tugged James insistently to his feet. Though he forfeited the advantage of superior height, the angle was better and it gave him both excuse and opportunity to tangle his fingers in James’s hair. James, however, hesitated.

“I’m not sure,” he began, as uncertain as Jack had ever heard him, and the pirate’s heart flipped unpleasantly. He released the other man’s hair and instead slipped his arms around James’s waist, leaning into him and, when he didn’t pull away, resting his head against his chest. When he spoke again, James’s voice broke over the words. “Jack, I can’t – this is –”

“Good,” Jack murmured, tilting his head back so that he spoke against James’s neck. He needed James to agree to that. Jack knew from the night on the deck that it was true for both of them, but if he couldn’t get James to admit it he would be pushed away and left wanting once again. Worse, this was already his second chance; he might not get another. “This is good.”

He pressed a sloppy kiss to James’s clavicle, exposed by the loosened ties of his shirt, and finally James moved his hands with a sigh of helpless defeat. One arm curled around Jack’s waist and the other hand cradled the back of his head. For a moment, he simply held Jack there, then James’s fingers tangled into Jack hair and pulled his head back to initiate another kiss.

“You are a bad influence on me, Sparrow,” James said breathlessly when they finally parted, his tone missing all of its intended sarcasm and instead riding on lust. Jack shivered and kept his eyes closed.

“I was hoping you might say that,” he murmured, though all the cockiness was similarly drained from his voice. His voice sounded as ragged as his self control; the careful distance they had been keeping from one another seemed only to have fuelled the desire in Jack’s blood, if not in James’s too, though he hadn’t realised it until the barriers between them had been broken a second time. He moved his hands to James’s hips, sliding them into his coat and then yanking on his clothes until they were pressed flush against one another.

James let out a gasp of surprise before his breath hitched. Jack pressed another kiss against James’s mouth and rolled his hips, teasing, to elicit a moan. He smirked into the kiss, but James was not above retaliation; he caught Jack’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to hurt.

Jack pulled back with a gasp. James looked at him was a self-satisfied smile. “Don’t look at me like that, Sparrow – you’re the one who decided to play dirty.”

“Pirate,” Jack said, by way of an explanation. He bent his head and latched on to James’s neck, sucking and biting a path up to his ear. James turned his head to the side to grant him better access, responding to every stroke of his tongue or nip of his teeth with equal enthusiasm, his hands tugging blindly at the sash and belt at his waist until both were unfastened and on the floor. Then he turned his attention to Jack’s shirt, pushing aside his waistcoat to tug the shirt out from his breeches. When his fingers found bare skin at last, Jack shuddered and arched against him.

“Off, Jack,” James ordered, pulling insistently at Jack’s shirt. Jack left a final, lingering kiss on James’s skin before he released his hold on the other man and stepped back. He shrugged his waistcoat off and let it fall into a heap, then pulled his shirt up over his head in one fluid motion. His wrists stuck in the cuffs and he cursed, looking down to disentangle them before he could drop the shirt to the floor.

When he looked up, James was looking at him in fascination, his gaze shifting across Jack’s torso to take in his scars: two ragged black circles on his right pectoral; a pale and glossy slash that curved under his ribs on the left of his torso; the web of thin white lines, rimmed with red, that splayed up the inside of his left arm from wrist to elbow in a pattern like dead ivy; and more, smaller cuts and scrapes and burns too numerous to count. Suddenly self-conscious of the marks that littered his skin, Jack looked away, his hands unconsciously curling into fists. He wondered what James thought of the scars and the stories they told, some more obvious than others.

He heard James step closer to him, then felt warm fingers around his right hand, lifting it. He turned to face James as the other man stroked a thumb over the P burned into Jack’s flesh just above the wrist. Jack shuddered and tried to pull away reflexively, but James’s grip became like steel and he looked up, meeting Jack’s gaze squarely and silently daring him to move. Then James ducked his head and pressed a lingering kiss to the scar.

Jack swallowed hard. To another man, it might have been a small gesture; between them, it was a sign of acceptance. James lifted his head, releasing Jack’s hand, and the pirate immediately cupped his face in both hands and kissed him thoroughly. James’s hands were warm against his bare skin, clever fingers finding the scars on his back and lingering at each as if making a note of where to look when he had the chance.

Finally, James broke the kiss and looked down at Jack, his eyes darkened with lust but a smile playing around his lips. “Captain Sparrow, I think this may be an opportune time for us to retire to the bed.”

Jack quirked an eyebrow at James’s formal tone, and as he nodded agreement wondered how on earth the man had known that it would make the fire in his belly rage higher. James slowly released him and gestured for him to lead the way. Jack gave him a suspicious glance, wary because this was unexpected, but walked across to the bed anyway. He ripped the tousled bedspread off the unmade bed and threw it to the floor then turned back to find James watching him.

“What?” he asked, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around himself. Although he was still wearing some clothing, he felt naked when faced with James, who was still completely dressed and making no move to take off any of his layers of clothes.

“Nothing, Jack,” James murmured with a smile as he joined him at the bedside. He turned his back and took off his coat, hanging it over the back of a nearby chair. Jack took the opportunity to step in close, pressing himself against James’s back and reaching around his waist to unfasten his belt. James hummed approval and began unbuttoning his waistcoat, and as soon as Jack had removed his belt he took it off and placed it carefully with his coat.

The pace was too slow for Jack; he wanted more skin to touch with his fingertips and his mouth. He tugged on James’s arm, turning him around, and started pulling at his shirt. James chuckled, but apparently decided to oblige and quickly pulled his shirt off, too, leaving them both bare-chested.

James’s torso was a smooth and unbroken expanse of skin, apparently untouched by blade or bullet. Jack ran his hand across the other man’s chest and down his ribs, surprised because even in the Navy it was dangerous to be a sailor and he could scarcely believe that James had managed to rise to the rank of admiral without gaining some mementos of battle. James took hold of his wrist and slid his hand around to his back, guiding his hand to the base of long, thing ridge of scar tissue as if he had sensed what Jack was looking for. Jack let his fingers follow the scar up and found that it ran from shoulder to waist, and he couldn’t hold back a hiss of sympathy, though the wound had long since healed.

“I tend to heal well, but I do have more,” James admitted with a small smile. He glanced down at the two prominent circles on Jack’s chest and added, “Though perhaps not so many as you …”

“I look forward to finding them,” Jack murmured, his voice low and rough. James shivered as he trailed his fingers up and down his ribcage. Jack leaned in closer and continued, “Now I believe you said something about a bed.”

“Yes,” James replied, glancing at it. While he was distracted, Jack ducked his head and licked purposefully over one of his nipples. James let out a gasp and Jack responded by closing his lips over the nub of flesh and sucking. One of James’s hands grabbed a handful of his hair. “Continue with that, and we shall never make it to the bed.”

James’s tone was matter-of-fact, but his voice was rough with want. Jack pulled back reluctantly, making a mental note to return to that same spot as soon as possible, and gestured towards the bed. “After you.”

The other man sat down on the edge of the bed and began to tug off his shoes. Jack followed suit, waiting until James had swung his legs up onto the bed before crawling up to lie alongside him. The nervous look had returned to James’s eyes. Jack didn’t like it; he slid a thumb along James’s jaw and leaned in to kiss the corner of his mouth, the hollow of his cheek, the edge of his eye.

“Jack,” James murmured, placing a hand on the side of his face and drawing him down to his lips. Jack squirmed, tugging on James’s belt-loops until he rolled a little and brought their bodies into alignment. Jack rolled his hips, feeling James’s arousal press against his own through the final layers of fabric that separated them, and was rewarded with a gasp that parted James’s lips beneath his own. He quickly insinuated his tongue between them, stroking it alongside James’s and eliciting a low moan from the other man.

He pulled out of the kiss reluctantly, ignoring the displeased sound James made at the back of his throat, and kissed his way down his neck and across his chest until he reached one of his nipples again. This time, he caught it between his teeth and bit gently. James arched against him, fingers tangling into his hair once more as he groaned Jack’s name. Jack smirked and closed his lips over James’s nipple, sucking hard.

“Stop that,” James snapped, pulling on Jack’s hair to bring him back up to his mouth. He crushed their lips together and rolled Jack over onto his back, pinning him to the bed with his body weight and dropping a knee between his thighs. Jack moaned helplessly, clutching at James’s bare shoulders. James took advantage of his open mouth to experimentally dip his tongue inside and Jack whined in response.

James kissed him fiercely, starting to rock his hips in a rhythm that was teasingly slow. Jack wanted more: more sensation, more movement, more friction. He pushed his hips up to meet James’s and the other man broke the kiss with a gasp. Jack grabbed at his hair as he tried to look away, face flushed with arousal and embarrassment, and forced him to meet his gaze. His eyelids fluttered when Jack moved in response another roll of his hips, but a sharp tug on his hair had them open again and startled.

“Want you,” he growled, twisting his hips so that James was in no doubt as to what he meant. He heard James’s breath catch, felt his hips jerk in response, but the sudden movement drove any thought of smirking at him from his mind and for a moment he could only arch and pant against him. When he could speak again, he insisted, “Now.”

James pushed himself up onto his knees, hands fumbling to open his trousers. Jack turned his attention to the fastenings of his own trousers, his hands made as clumsy as James’s by the fog of desire clouding his mind. Between them, they somehow managed to get both pairs of trousers unfastened, but before James could do more than shove them down to his hips Jack’s need to touch became too much. He reached out and curled his fingers around James’s length and squeezed. James bit back a moan, his hands fisting at his sides. Jack began to stroke and James tipped his head back and groaned, his hips twitching involuntarily.

He would have been content to simply lie beneath James and watch him come apart by degrees in response to his touch, but Jack’s own arousal was growing with every restless shift of James’s hips. He wanted to feel bare skin against his own, needed James’s hands on him. He let go of James’s erection and ordered, “Come here.”

James complied wordlessly, burying his face in Jack’s neck and pressing desperate kisses to his skin in between gasps for breath. Jack shoved impatiently at the material of James’s trousers until the other man rolled off him with an irritable growl and ripped them off. Jack took the opportunity to squirm out of his remaining clothes, then grabbed James’s arm and pulled them together. Jack swore into James’s chest as his erection brushed against James’s, then he found himself once again on his back.

“Jack,” James moaned against his mouth, repeating his name like a mantra and he began to thrust downwards, creating the friction Jack longed for. He could feel James’s fingers tight around one of his wrists, pinning his arm to the bed and preventing him from turning the tables. He threaded the fingers of his other hand into James’s hair and pulled him into a breathless, open-mouthed kiss.

He could feel the pounding of his blood, the reflexive jerking of his hips against James’s and the other man’s touch seeking the hidden pleasure-centres littered across his skin. It wasn’t enough; he wanted more. He felt as if he could not touch enough of James’s skin, could not get close enough to him. They could be closer, he reminded himself. He thought of James between his spread legs with a nervous expression and a bottle of oil; he imagined James stretching him open, taking too much care and too much time, until Jack himself was writhing against the sheets, incoherent; he thought of James inside him, each thrust driving deeper until he was completely filled and they were as close as two people could be.

Jack cried out as his pleasure peaked, breaking the kiss, and shuddered through the unexpected climax. When he opened his eyes, his limbs heavy and his body tingling with aftershocks of pleasure, he found James looking down at him, his eyes still dark with lust and an expression of wonder on his face.

“Good God, Jack,” he gasped, and then he buried his face in Jack’s neck and sobbed, still hard and wanting against Jack’s thigh. Jack pushed gently at him until they lay side by side, then reached between them and took hold of his erection once more, setting a fast pace for his strokes.

The sounds James made against his neck were delicious. They sent a fresh sliver of desire down Jack’s spine. His body was too tired to properly respond, but Jack filed the information away for future reference; he wanted to remember this, so that he could draw such noises out of James again. He shifted slightly to kiss the other man’s forehead, tasting the salt tang of his sweat.

“C’mon Jamie,” he said softly, and the intimacy of the address was enough to draw a whimper from James. He squirmed a little lower and nuzzled into a series of kisses between James’s gasps for breath. He nipped James’s bottom lip and murmured, “I want to see you …”

James gasped, his body stiffening and his hold on Jack tightening almost painfully as his orgasm washed over him, tipped over the edge by Jack’s words. Jack slowed his hand as James’s hips stopped jerking helplessly and wiped his palm along James’s thigh. The other man made a disgusted sound. “That’s revolting.”

The protest was only half-hearted, however. Jack ignored him, pushing James over onto his back and settling himself into a comfortable position half on top of him. James, apparently too tired to argue, nudged at him with his shoulder until he sat up a little, then wound his arm around Jack’s shoulders and pulled him back down onto him. Jack kissed his chest before resting his head on it.

“What if Barbossa comes back?” James asked sleepily. Jack shrugged and closed his eyes.

“Tell him to find somewhere else to take his bloody apples.”

James chuckled softly and Jack could vividly imagine him shaking his head in exasperation. He lifted his head and looked down at the other man; every muscle in his body was for once relaxed and his face free from the lines that Jack was used to seeing on his brow. He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“What was that for?” James asked without opening his eyes.

“Nothing,” Jack replied, and rested his head on James’s chest again. He could hear James’s heartbeat beneath his ear, still slowing to its normal pace but strong and steady. James skimmed his hand up and down his ribs once before resting his palm at his waist.

“Go to sleep,” he murmured, the words muffled by slumber. Obediently, Jack closed his eyes. He was warm and comfortable, with James’s heartbeat lulling him as much as the gentle sound of waves lapping against a ship’s hull ever had. He wrapped his arm around James’s chest and let himself begin to relax and drift. The other man’s fingers were shifting slowly against his skin, the touch a comfort and a reassurance. Jack smiled; lying in James’s arms, he felt safe in a way he had not with any of the others he had taken to bed in his lifetime. He turned his head slightly and brushed his lips against James’s skin once more before settling more comfortably against James’s side and allowing himself to fall asleep.

 


End file.
